


I Smile Because You're My Father, I Laugh Because There's Nothing You Can Do About It

by Naphorism



Category: American Horror Story, American Horror Story: Apocalypse, American Horror Story: Murder House
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bisexual Character, Bisexual Male Character, Bisexual Tate Langdon, Bisexuality, Bonding, Cigarettes, Domestic Violence, Drinking, Drunkenness, Dysfunctional Family, Excessive Drinking, F/M, Family, Family Bonding, Family Feels, Family Fluff, Father Figures, Father-Son Relationship, Fatherhood, Fights, Gen, Ghosts, I'm looking at you michael, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Kinda, Michael Langdon Deserves Better, Parenthood, Relationship Discussions, Smoking, Teen Michael, Teenage Drama, Teenage Rebellion, Teenagers, Two Fathers, Underage Drinking, Underage Smoking, Witchcraft, Young Michael Langdon, antichrist fuckery, but only barely, idk what that that tag is usually used for but we got the devil and tate so let's use it for that, no invoking satan in the house, this is the langdons how good can it be
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-19
Updated: 2020-04-19
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:48:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23731075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Naphorism/pseuds/Naphorism
Summary: The issue is that teenagers are not meant to have teenage sons. Ben now knows there is a reason that it's not meant to happen, other than the temporal impossibility of it. He knows that it's why Michael and Tate don't get along. It's just that much harder to cope with becoming your parent, or your child becoming you, when the barrier of age isn't there to soften the blow.
Relationships: Ben Harmon & Michael Langdon, Ben Harmon & Tate Langdon, Michael Langdon & Tate Langdon, Violet Harmon & Michael Langdon, Violet Harmon & Tate Langdon, Violet Harmon/Tate Langdon
Comments: 2
Kudos: 36





	I Smile Because You're My Father, I Laugh Because There's Nothing You Can Do About It

**Author's Note:**

> murder house happens without Tate being a mass murderer and without Ben’s death at the end. the Langdon-Harmon family lives a dysfunctional but mostly happy life in their haunted house. think the family from Beetlejuice — dead and living residents of haunted home living in harmony. Tate did bad shit, but only after death, possessed by Satan. (how’d he die? dunno! Constance? his own depressed self? you decide.) Michael is still the antichrist, but he’s been raised well and isn’t gonna trigger armageddon  
> Tate, Violet, Vivian, and Moira are still ghosts. Michael and Ben are alive  
> essentially an excuse to write teenage dad with teenage son cos I think that’s hysterical

Ben Harmon stood with his arms out wide, feet spread in an immovable stance. His palms were flat against two nearly identical chests, both heaving in fury, vibrating with the force of their shouting. Two boys were struggling against Ben's grip, trying to get closer to one another but too furious to think of ways to evade his hands. The boy on his left ducked under his arm and made a lunge for the boy on his right. He caught the boy by the collar of his striped sweater, holding fast against his writhing attempts to attack the other boy.

“ _Stop_!” Ben shouted.

The boys struggled less in a surprised reaction to Ben’s raised voice. Breaking eye contact with one another, two heads of blonde curls bounced as their heads whipped sideways to look at Ben.

“What is it this time?” Ben asked wearily.

“I’ve _told_ him to stay away from my shit like a million times!” Tate shouted, yanking the collar of his sweater out of Ben’s grip and clenching his fists.

Ben sighed. “Michael?”

“He’s angry because I found his porn,” stated Michael, smug.

“What did you think you were going to find?” Ben asked calmly.

Shrugging, Michael explained, “Not sure. What I _did_ find is proof that he’s a filthy hypocrite.”

Tate lunged for Michael.

“What?” Ben breathed, mystified. He caught Tate by the hair as an afterthought.

“ _Ow_ ,” Tate muttered, stopping in his tracks and rubbing his head. He backed away from Michael slightly to avoid further bodily injury from Ben in peacekeeper mode.

“Oh, you know.” Michael waved his hand around airily, grinning an empty smile. “He was a _massive asshole_ about me bringing a guy home on Friday night.” His smile turned nasty. “Who knew someone capable of such _inspired_ jokes about my sexuality would keep gay porn under his floorboards?”

“You’re a little shit,” Tate seethed.

“And you’re a little closeted bisexual.” Michael smiled predatorily.

Ben saw Violet leaning around the doorframe with a distinctive smile on her face. He knew that smile, and it said she was doing her level best not to burst out laughing. He should have done something to stop the inevitable, but he couldn’t. Violet let out a small snort. Ben hoped to whatever powers controlled the house that neither boy would comment on it.

“What the fuck!” Tate and Michael exclaimed simultaneously, both turning to face the door.

A snort became full-blown laughter, and Violet got out, “It’s like watching you argue with yourself! A seventeen-year-old with a teenage son is _exactly_ as funny as it sounds.”

Michael and Tate glared at one another.

Rolling his eyes, Ben gave up on mediating the argument. Tate and Michael were comically similar; one of the many, _many_ reasons they never got along. Sometimes Ben felt as though he was the father of two constantly quarrelling twins rather than the overly involved therapist, legal guardian, and father-in-law of a father and son who had the misfortune of being the same age.

“If you’re done trying to attack me, I have better things to do,” Michael stated haughtily, turning on his heel and marching for the door.

“Good! I don’t give a shit what you’re doing, long as you stay _out of my room_ ,” seethed Tate.

Michael strutted past Violet, nearly shouldering her out of his way in his haste.

Something dawned on Tate’s face. “Hold up.”

Stopping in his tracks just outside the door, Michael turned and cocked an eyebrow at Tate.

“Are you wearing my combats?” Tate asked incredulously, gesturing at Michael’s feet.

Michael blinked. He gave a faked angelic smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Were you planning on wearing them somewhere?”

“Little shit,” Tate growled. He moved far too fast for Ben to stop him, tackling Michael to the ground with arms around his midsection.

Michael made an, “Oof,” noise as the air was knocked out of him, back hitting the floor with a thud. He rained down blows on his father’s head in retaliation. The lights of the hallway started flickering, and the curses coming out of his mouth started sounding a bit too much like chanting. The dancing shadows his mussed up hair cast on the wall behind him started looking more like horns than hair, and his shadow’s shoulders were expanding into something inhuman.

Sighing, Ben navigated around the tangle of supernatural teenage boy on the floor. He intended to go to the kitchen, where Vivian and Moira were probably busy talking shit about Constance. He had had enough of trying to get Tate and Michael to get along for the day.

Violet continued watching Michael and Tate fight idly. She leaned against the wall and suggested, “Hit him,” without particularly caring which boy thought she was addressing him.

Grabbing Michael by the straps of his black tank top, Tate shouted, “No. Invoking. Your. Father. In. The. House.” He punctuated each word by slamming Michael into the floor. “This is a Satan-free zone. I’ve had enough of that possessing shithead for one death!”

“Yeah Michael, jeez.” Violet smirked. “Speaking in tongues isn’t using your indoor voice.”

Michael shoved Tate off and sat up, panting. His eyes slowly faded from solid black back into their standard blue.

“Here.” Violet threw a carton of cigarettes at Michael’s head. “Have one. Calm down.”

Flipping Violet off, Michael placed a cigarette between his lips. He held the carton out to Tate as a peace offering.

Tate rolled his eyes, but took a cigarette anyways. “You shouldn’t smoke. We’re already dead, but you could get lung cancer,” He warned Michael idly.

Michael scoffed. “Who do you think you are, my dad?”

Visibly trying not to smile, Tate stood up and held out a hand for Michael. “If you die in here I’ll have to deal with you for eternity. I want you to graduate high school, move out when you turn eighteen, then die an adult. Maybe you’ll even manage to go to university before you bite it.”

“My dad wants me to have a successful life,” Michael stage whispered to Violet, smirking as he grabbed Tate’s hand to haul himself up off the ground.

“I’ll fight you over my boots again if you call me dad one more time,” grumbled Tate, wiping his hands on his jeans exaggeratedly as though he had just touched something gross.

“You’ll let me keep them if I call you Tate?” Michael asked slyly, pocketing Violet’s cigarettes.

Tate glared at Michael. “Maybe.”

Michael smirked. “Let’s go smoke on the porch then, Tate.”

“I’m gonna fucking regret this,” Tate muttered, following Michael down the hall towards the stairs. He tactfully ignored Violet giggling at his plight in the background.

* * *

It was midnight, and Ben walked onto the back porch to look at the stars since he couldn’t sleep. Or at least he _tried_ to walk onto the back porch. Instead he walked directly into two drunken teenagers. There were cigarette butts scattered across the porch, and two empty bottles of whiskey sat at the foot of the stairs. A CD player was plugged into the outlet usually used for an electric lawn mower, something grungy filtering out of its bad speakers at low volume.

“— not gay, but I _would_ suck Kurt Cobain’s dick,” was the first thing Ben heard, words exiting Tate’s mouth with such difficulty it was as though they were being muffled by a brick wall of alcohol. “Violet would understand.”

Michael giggled around the cigarette in his mouth, his curls indistinguishable from Tate’s where their blonde heads were tilted together. Tate was still slurring his words horribly, but he had progressed into talking about the threesome he wanted to have with Violet and Kurt Cobain.

There was something Ben had _never_ wanted to hear. And also never wanted to think about again.

Managing to get his giggles under control, Michael took a drag of his cigarette, the cherry just barely glowing enough to cast orange light across his face. “Kurt Cobain is dead, though,” he slurred, smoke spiralling out of his mouth and dissipating into the cool night air. Anyone else would have been freezing sitting outside in a tank top and ripped jeans at this temperature, but Michael had always run very hot.

Thoughts of the fiery pits of Hell and sulphur-scented smoke briefly crossed Ben’s mind. He shook them off with a shudder. No way was Michael’s dark(er) father ever getting joint custody. Not if Ben had anything to say about the matter.

“So, so, so are we!” Tate exclaimed.

Michael laughed maniacally. “You are,” he hiccupped out, “ _so, so, so_ fucking stupid. Or possibly very drunk.”

Tate frowned at his knees, thinking very hard. Then he muttered, “I said an extra so, din’t I.”

Then they were both off, shaking with laughter as though no one had ever said anything funnier. They clung to each other’s shoulders: an odd hybrid of hugging and trying not to fall down the stairs in hysterics. Their ripped denim-clad knees knocked together every time their intoxicated swaying in place lead them towards one another at the same time.

“ _Kurt Cobain_ ,” Michael howled, nearly putting out Tate’s eye with the lit end of his cigarette as he flailed his free arm around.

This made Tate laugh even harder.

Ben shook his head, took one last look at the scene, and walked right back into the house. He may have been a psychiatrist, but there was no figuring the Langdons out.

**Author's Note:**

> I finally watched all of apocalypse, then I got drunk. this is the result  
> Michael and Tate are s o s i m i l a r and that scene where Tate yells at Michael managed to be the whiniest, most teenaged scene ever written cos of the way they both acted. I couldn't just let that be  
> eternally grateful for all kudos and comments


End file.
